Dear Sons and Daughters of Hungry Ghosts
by Lila2
Summary: Beth comes back and Daryl finds another reason to believe.


**Title:** "Dear Sons and Daughters of Holy Ghosts"

**Author:** Lila

**Rating: **PG-13**  
**

**Character/Pairing: **Daryl, Beth

**Spoiler:** "Alone"

**Length:** one-shot

**Summary****:** Beth comes back and Daryl finds another reason to believe.

**Disclaimer:** Not mine, just borrowing them for a few paragraphs.

**Author's Note: **All I can say is: the Beth/Daryl bug bit me too. Title and cut quote of Wolf Parade. Enjoy.

* * *

_God doesn't always have the best goddam plans does he?_

* * *

It's three days before she comes back to him.

She's standing in the road, mid-morning sun gleaming sharply on the edge of her knife. Her eyes are wide, knees quaking just the tiniest bit, but her fingers are solid around the hilt of the knife.

He lowers the bow, shuffles forward, careful to keep his movements neat, clean. She's spooked enough; he doesn't need her taking off like a newborn fawn.

"Beth, sweetheart," he croons. "It's me."

She jerks, lifts her free hand to shade her eyes from the light. "Daryl?" Even when he knows that she recognizes him, she never loosens her grip on her blade.

"Yeah, it's me."

She stares at him, all that blonde hair lit up by the sun, and he takes a tentative step forward. Then another, when she doesn't bolt, and keeps taking them until she's close so he can feel her pressed up against his chest. She collapses into his arms and he doesn't shy away from the tears soaking the fabric of his shirt. He's learned his lesson well – there's no weakness in relief.

He holds her tight, arms rigid and locked around her slender back. It's the only way he can keep himself from shaking.

* * *

Once upon a time Daryl collected empty 40s and Coke bottles with Merle, earned drinking money from hours of walking the road, sun beating down on his back.

He roams those same roads now, Beth's fingers clasped tight to the fraying leather of his belt. They need to put space between Joe and his gang, Beth and her captors, so she hobbles behind him rather than ride his back.

It's protection, no more, and she doesn't protest when he pushes her behind him and starts through the forest, bow cutting a narrow path through the trees.

She doesn't protest when he points to an empty can of Pabst, or when he stops in a clearing and cocks his head towards the perimeter. She doesn't protest when he drops the bag of empties at her feet and disappears into the canopy to scavenge dinner.

She doesn't protest because she doesn't say anything at all.

* * *

Dinner is clover greens and a scraggly squirrel that wouldn't have survived the coming winter.

Beth dutifully picks at her meal, spits out the bones and wipes her hands on a leaf, but very little of the food makes its way into her mouth.

She mostly stares into the fire, watches the flames with her hardened doe eyes. Daryl can't say anything. He has no words to make it better, to make it change.

"They were breeders," Beth finally says, the steel in her voice matching the hardness in her eyes.

"Beth," he starts, watches the way her mouth trembles even as her face keeps up its mask. He wants to know, but he doesn't want to make her say it, not if it causes more pain.

"You want to know, right?"

"It's not important," he tries again. This isn't about him. In truth, it never really was.

"They said 90% of the population is gone. I don't now if it's a lie, but they said it all the same. They had food, water. All they needed were girls like me."

Daryl closes his eyes, pushes away Merle and the Governor, Joe and his gang, the men of his past that he's tried so hard to escape. "I'm sorry," he finally says. He knows he can't make it better, but he can make her see that he understands. His daddy, Merle…he knows what it's like to feel powerless.

"Not your fault," she says, an edge to her voice. "Not everything is your fault, Daryl. Stop acting like it is. You don't get a monopoly on guilt."

He doesn't say anything, just throws another stick on the fire and listens for the resulting hiss. He likes the predictability in it. He likes things he understands.

"You taught me something, you know."

"Oh yeah?" He's taught her lots of things, but he knows this particular lesson isn't the kind that brings down a walker.

"I thought we were done with it all," she says. "After the prison, I thought all we had left were the walkers. Turns out, it's the people we should fear the most."

He stares at her across the fire, takes in the fierce blue eyes and her pale face. He doesn't see any of the girl he remembers.

* * *

Daryl is dog tired, but Beth's needs come first. He only joined up with a bunch of good ole boys; she's the one who landed in the trunk of some monster's car.

"I'll take first watch," he tells her, rests the bow against his knees. "Get some sleep."

"I can take care of myself," she reminds him, stalks another turn around the campfire to check the bottles and cans. She fingers the hilt of her knife and meets his gaze.

He looks pointedly at her ankle. "You gonna chase walkers on that foot in the dark?"

She huffs a bit but settles down across the clearing, curls into herself. The air is crisp and cool around them, quiet but for the crackle of the fire. Wildlife is few and far between. It's hard to remember a time when an owl's cry would pierce the air. Daryl shivers, even though his jacket keeps him warm. He's not sure he'll ever be used to the quiet.

He hears her easily when she pads up to meet him, her gimpy ankle dragging her foot through the dirt. "Can't sleep?" he asks, just to make conversation, just to break the quiet that won't quit.

She settles down beside him, a healthy distance between them, but he can feel her, slight and skinny but warm and solid. He relaxes and the quiet loses some of its hold. "Daryl?" Beth whispers, the night wind stealing her voice. "How did you find me?"

"You found me."

She nudges him with her shoulder and he even thinks there might be the hint of a smile on her face; at the very last a little light in her eyes. "You left arrow marks all along the road. You knew I'd follow."

He nudges her back. "Found a group, borrowed a car…you know."

"They're going to follow you," she says, panic edging into her voice. "They're not going to let this go." She starts to get up, but he lays a hand on her leg, lets his fingers rub lightly over her knee.

"Said I borrowed the car, didn't I?" It's a lame attempt at a joke and she doesn't calm, much, keeps watching the campsite with worried, darting eyes.

"That isn't funny, Daryl. They're going to come after us."

"Hey, hey," he says, tightens the fingers clasped around her knee. "They're not coming after us."

She turns, gazes up at him with wild doe eyes. "You promise?

"Go to sleep, Beth. I'll keep you safe." He lifts his hand from her leg, lets her slip away.

She doesn't get up, only shifts closer, turns on her hip to rest her head in his lap. "I trust you," she says, closes her eyes so all he can see is the play of golden fire over her skin.

He watches the sun rise with his fingers tangled in the soft sunshine of her hair.

* * *

Her story comes in bits and pieces.

"You never told me how you got away," Daryl asks on the second night. He doesn't want to pry, but he needs to know. Was it her or was it him or was it them both that helped her escape?

She digs into her pocket and pulls out a tattered piece of cloth. "I wasn't there an hour before they pulled me from the pit." She holds up the misshapen object and he realizes it's not fabric, but skin, a broken thing that used to be an ear. "He tried to make me, but I showed him."

Her eyes are on fire but her mouth trembles and her fingers tighten around that torn piece of flesh. Then her shoulders start to shake and her chin wobbles and he's on her before the first whimper can slip from her lips. "Shhh, shhh," he whispers and it's natural this time, the way she curls into him and digs her nose into the hollow between his neck and shoulder. "I got you."

"But you didn't," she says, pulls back and lifts her tear-stained face. "That's the point. I did it on my own, but I don't want to again."

"I ain't going anywhere."

"I know," she says. "I know." She opens her palm, shows him the trophy. "I got him good didn't, I?"

He chuckles a little. "Yeah, you did."

"Remember that necklace you had on the farm?"

He closes his eyes, feels a flush creep up his neck. The things he did back then to keep the others at bay…"I remember."

"I'm thinking maybe I'll make one of my own."

"You really want that thing around your neck?"

He can feel her eyes on him, the angry heat of her gaze. "I never want to forget."

He flinches inwardly, feels the scars on his back come to life. "You don't need a creepy keepsake to remember. That kind of thing don't fade with time." He closes his fingers over hers, balls her hand into a fist. "Let it go."

She pushes away and rises awkwardly to her feet, one hand digging into the muscle of his shoulder for balance. "I still win, right"

"You're here, ain't you?"

She opens her free hand and lets loose, fingers tightening on his shoulder as that ugly piece of flesh disappears into the flames.

She's never felt more real.

* * *

They're heading to "Terminus," the end of the line, maybe the end of everything.

Beth notices the sign on the morning of day four and stands before it, biting hard on an already cracked lip. "What do you think?" she asks, brow furrowing as she studies the uneven writing.

Daryl pushes his hair out of his eyes. He's leery of people, but tired of the road. One choice isn't any easier than the other. "We're doing okay on our own."

She nods, tilts her head to study the map. "What if the group is there? What if Maggie's there?"

He can't ignore the thump of hope that tightens his chest. He got Beth back. There's no reason he can't get the others back too. She turns to him, eyes full of longing, and he knows he's not saying no. "You sure about this?"

"What's the worst that can happen?" Her fingers slip through his, hold tight and squeeze. "You got me, right?"

He squeezes back. "Yeah, I do."

* * *

Beth kills a walker on day five. It's not like she's never done it before, but never so quick that he can't even cock an arrow before she's sent her knife flying.

He double-checks, just in case, but she's hit her target dead-on. "Guess you don't need me anymore," he jokes and she smiles as she as she pulls the knife from the walker's eye.

She slides her knife into its sheath. "Maybe you taught me a thing or two."

She shoulders her pack and treads down the rails, leaves him to trail behind.

* * *

It rains the whole next day.

He's been sitting in the doorway of the abandoned freight car, watching the blackening sky and grey clouds, the grass turn a deep, dark green.

Beth comes up beside him, the rough fabric of her jeans rasping against his jacket. He hooks an arm around her knee, rests his shoulder against her thigh and watches the rain.

The air is crisp and clean, almost beautiful. It makes him think of something good.

He can't hide the smile curving his lips so he turns his face into the curve of her thigh. She runs her hand through his hair, leans into the door and lets him hold on.

She's taught him something too.

* * *

There's a cabin on the lord's day, clean and neat and nothing like the moonshine paradise they lit up in flames.

There's no food left on the shelves, but there's a well out back and leftover clothes and a single bed with a woven blanket. They trade in their stained gear for fresh socks and sweaters, warm flannel and Carhartt pants, and even Daryl can admit it feels damn good not to wear clothes coated in walker blood.

He heads for the door to check the perimeter, but Beth stops him with a hand on the bare skin of his forearm. "I'll do it."

He could argue, but he recognizes the steel in her eyes and takes a step back. "Okay."

"And get in bed," she says, presses her palm against his chest in a gentle push. "You've been carrying me all this way. You deserve a break."

He hasn't been carrying her, not past those first few days, but he is tired, too exhausted to fight back, so he kicks off his boots and climbs into bed.

The pillow is near threadbare, but the blanket reminds him of his mama's crafts and the mattress cradles the raw muscles of his back. He knows he'll be out like a light, fights to see her come back bathed in moonlight.

He hears the cans clink and the door bolt, hears the scrape of the chair she presses up against the handle, hears the soft rustle of fabric as she slides out of her jeans and tugs her sweater over her head.

She climbs in behind him, curls around him and breathes in deep against the back of his neck. She's still all long, skinny limbs and bird bones, but there's strength in the arm that slides over his belly, power in the fingers that comb through his hair.

"Shhhh," she croons as his eyes flutter shut. "I got you too."

* * *

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